


Noli me Tangere

by cosmicsupersass



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicsupersass/pseuds/cosmicsupersass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron and Nasir never meet, but their attraction is undeniable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noli me Tangere

Nasir pouts because it suits him, not because he feels any true disdain. It’s because he knows the way it makes his lips curve and what the jut of his mouth implies. He wouldn’t pout did it not elevate his status, if he did not hold out a hope of position yet further escalated to the heavens.

So Nasir pouts as he waits in the marketplace of Capua. He knows not what business his dominus conducts here, but his eyes betray no more interest than his plush countenance. He guesses it is in slaves, as in the middle of the square there lays a wooden platform that held the chained figures of three women not minutes before. Now, a half a dozen men covered in filth climb to be seen from the platform. One by one, they are kicked to knees where they stay.

 

Agron would be more defiant were he not so disoriented. The bright noonday sunlight is the first he has seen in many days and the smell of some sort of Roman delicacy wafting from one of the upper stories of the buildings that surround him makes his mind a little weak, but he has not forgotten how to snarl when his greasy-haired captor pushes him to his knees and a fresh wave of pain is sent through his legs. Duro yanks the chain that connects their wrists and binds their hands, for once warning Agron to be cautious. 

Agron scowls and casts his gaze about the square in favor of listening to his captor discuss the merits of his stock that he clearly does not believe. This is clearly a market solely for slaves – were it not for them, the square would hold nothing of worth to the many fat, white-haired Romans who form the crowd around them. A middle aged man with a gut-curling leer advances forward, and Agron averts his eyes upward and across the square.

 

Nasir’s eyes trail down the line of men, lazy until he sees a man who stares at him from across the square. Nasir is not in the habit of holding eye contact – he can’t be – but this man’s lightly-colored eyes carry a fiery intensity unmatched by any Nasir has ever seen. It’s not just a warlike spirit or the fearful last fight of a cornered dog, it is a vivacity, a barely-contained strength doesn’t belong here. It’s equal is none of these surroundings in this bare and dirty square, and it mirrors none that Nasir has seen in the eyes of jaded Romans and fearful slaves alike.

It lights Nasir. It lights him to wonder.

From what lands does this man hail? What great and unfortunate course of events has led him here to be auctioned at block? Does he dream of the war that cost him his freedom? Will he dream of the strange man who stared into his eyes as his worth was debated among Romans?

Nasir’s eyes don’t leave his. 

 

Agron catches sight of one clearly not Roman, a dark-skinned and slender young man who leans against a wall on the opposite side of the square. The worn leather around his neck is the only thing to indicate that he does not stand as subject to his own desires as the other men who mill around the street. His hair is long, and his robe clings to his form as his weight shifts from one foot to the other. He is beautiful.

His eyes meet Agron’s and his heart does something strange in his chest - he feels as though naked in front of this man, like this man’s eyes could act as hands to pull the cloth from his waist, and the drapery from around Agron’s guarded soul. Agron wants to avert his eyes, to pull all the cloths back around him and require at least the name of the man who reveals him so, but he does nothing of the sort.

Agron’s eyes don’t leave his. 

 

Nasir can’t help but find him attractive. It has been a very long time since he allowed himself to find anyone attractive.

And just that acknowledgment that he finds this passionate stranger attractive opens a levy inside him, and a rush of wants so carefully denied comes rushing through him.

He wants to pull him close and be able to push him away. He wants to be allowed to turn his head with his hands threaded firmly into his hair. He wants the man to press close to him and surround him with his deliciously large body. Nasir wants to feel him everywhere. He wants to straddle that chest. Nasir wants to feel all the muscles in his rippling pectorals clench against the sensitive places along the insides of his thighs. It’s so tangible that Nasir can almost feel it – the short hair between his fingers and the stretch in his legs that comes from straddling a man and all the skin pressing into his own. 

Nasir wants, and he can almost imagine that when the man rises, he’s going to walk over and give Nasir everything he wants.

 

Agron is no stranger to seeing men he’d care to lie with, but Agron wants so much more than to lie with this man.

He wants to ask him his name and hear of his past. He wants to feel him breath with their bodies close together. Agron wants to envelop him, hold him, protect him. He wants to kiss down his body in the middle of the night. He wants to pull the collar from around his neck before he moves any lower. He would press his lips down the smaller man’s smooth, dark chest, opening his mouth so that he may stroke his lower lip over the man’s navel before plunging into it with his tongue. Agron imagines that he tastes like freedom. Or perhaps that is what anything desirable tastes like to Agron.

Agron feels the chain at his wrists jerk, and he stands.

 

The hands of one who demands satisfaction. The gaze of a sexual partner. The feel of arousal. Nasir knows all these things. 

He wonders what the love of a man feels like.

Nasir came to the realization that this he would never know years ago. It evades sense why it would cause fresh wound now. He turns away.

 

Agron’s steps falter as the row of slaves is lead to the man who must be their new master – Agron hadn’t been paying enough attention to know even the face of this man let alone what purpose he and Duro would serve for him.

He turns around for one last look into the dark eyes that had seen him so clearly.

The face that held them is cast down, eyes averted.

He turns away too, following the tug of his chains into the darkness of the alley.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is always appreciated!


End file.
